At the Temple of the Plumed Serpent
WHEN I rejoined Itza and Azcopil in the outer chamber, my chest bore
a beautifully tattooed clan-mark of the Tutul Zius, and I felt as if
a live scorpion was under my shirt. Nohul Voh had cautioned me not to
mention the matter even to the prince or to Itza, nor to permit anyone
to see the recently tattooed design for the present. In a week’s time,
aided by an unguent he had given me, he assured me that no one, not
even Kinchi Haman, would guess I had not borne the symbol for years,
and then, he added, the more who saw it the better.
Itza, poor girl, had been greatly worried at my absence, and as I
entered the room she uttered a glad cry and rushed into my arms. She
was very nervous, for she had the superstitious fears of her race for
all things savoring of the unknown and for more than two hours she had
been regaled by Azcopil’s highly-colored tales of the weird doings of
the sorcerer.
The prince, however, did not appear to have worried over my prolonged
session with Nohul Voh. “Truly,” he exclaimed with a laugh, “Nohul Voh
has had time to show you the past and future from the beginning of time
until the end of all things. Twenty times and more has the green ball
moved about its circuit.”
I stepped closer to the sphere, still swinging slowly around the
circumference of the column top, and whirling around and around as
it did so. I examined it from every angle, but could see no support,
nothing that held it suspended, no connection with any other object. It
seemed actually to float in air.
“My lord Itzimin wonders at the ball of time,” rumbled Nohul Voh, who
was watching me. “Fear not to touch it, if you so desire, my lord.”
I did desire, and taking him at his word, I cautiously extended my
hand and touched the gleaming green sphere. I had expected that my
touch would stop it or at least disturb its motion. Judge of my utter
amazement when it swung by my hand without veering a fraction of an
inch from its circuit! With all my strength I pushed against it; but I
might as well have pushed against one of the massive stones in the wall
of the room! It was as immovable, as firmly fixed as though it were
held by steel rods!
Nohul Voh chuckled. Azcopil gaped. Itza stared, half-frightened,
at the seeming magic. I could scarcely credit my senses. It seemed
impossible, absolutely contrary to all rules and laws of physics. All
that had gone before--the vision of the smoke, Nohul Voh’s description
of my journey--were nothing in comparison with this phenomenon. I had
already decided in my own mind that the smoke-cloud, the vision, were
all delusions, some form of hypnosis. But there was nothing visionary,
nothing of hypnotism about this floating, silently rotating sphere of
green, that could not be moved, could not be diverted from its course.
The sorcerer seemed to read my thoughts. “Yet it is but the law of the
gods,” he declared. “Do not the stars float in the sky? Do not the sun
and the moon move across the heavens? And can they be stopped, can they
be moved? And the law of the gods that keeps the sun, the moon, the
stars in their places keeps also the ball of green in its place. My
lord Itzimin has great knowledge of matters of which I know nothing.
I, Nohul Voh, possess knowledge of matters of which my lord knows no
more. In days to come, each shall impart to the other that which it is
desirable to know. Come unto me when you so desire, Itzimin Chac, and
you shall learn much from Nohul Voh and shall teach me much, for so it
is written in the Book of Destiny. May happiness be yours, my lord,
and yours my daughter, and yours, O, Prince.”
As he spoke, the door swung open, and bidding Nohul Voh farewell,
we stepped from the strange, mysterious chamber into the brilliant
sunshine.
Clear against the deep blue sky the temple rose in a silhouette of
silvery white, and half-expectantly, I glanced at its summit. There
was no sign of the lambent, multicolored flames. The Bridge of Light
was still cut off. Kinchi Haman awaited me in my palace. He frowned at
sight of Azcopil, he glared at Itza, but he spoke quietly, courteously.
The people, he said, awaited the son of Kukulcan within the temple. The
gods awaited him to lead the people of Mictolan in worship. It was time
that I did so. Would I come with him and conduct the ceremony of the
setting sun?
My heart sank. The wily old rascal had me in a trap. As the semi-divine
bearer of the symbol, as the descendant of the Plumed Serpent, I was
the supreme head of the cult of Kukulcan. As a priest of his temple,
I ranked higher than all others. But I had not the remotest idea of
the ceremonies, the worship of the cult. That it called for elaborate
rituals, for offerings, for prayers and chants in the secret sacred
language of the cult, that it entailed self-sacrifices of the priest’s
blood, I knew. But how, at what points in the ceremony? If I attempted
it, my every move, my every word would betray me, and the old priest
would know I was an impostor. If I refused, both he and the people
would know something was amiss.
* * * * *
ALL these thoughts and misgivings flashed through my mind in an
instant. Then an inspiration came to me. I would bluff the old rascal,
would catch him in his own trap. He wished to force me to betray myself
by taking part in a ceremony of which I was ignorant. I would compel
_him_ to betray _himself_; would make him the laughing stock of his
people.
I nodded assent. “It is indeed time, O, Kinchi Haman, priest of Kinich
Ahau,” I said solemnly. “I would give thanks to the gods for their
favors, and to my father Kukulcan. Knowest thou the ritual beloved of
the mighty serpent?”
An evil grin made his skeleton jaws more hideous still. “I, high priest
of Mictolan, know all the ceremonies,” he declared. “Am I not the
Kinchi Haman, priest of the Supreme God?”
I shook my head dubiously and looked very serious. “Of Kinich Ahau,
Lord of the Sun, yes,” I declared judicially. “But perchance, in the
many Katuns that have passed since my father walked with the Kiche
Maya, much has been forgotten. Does not the prophecy say that the old
gods shall be forgotten? That the religion shall be perverted? Even
you--” I turned suddenly, and pointing my finger at him thundered the
words--“even you have caused human sacrifices to be made in the temples
of the Plumed Serpent! And thy face, O, priest, is that of Uayayab--he
by whom the year is poisoned! Already the all-powerful Hunabku frowns
upon you and upon your temples! Aye, it is high time the son of
Kukulcan came forth to thy temples to redeem the people of Mictolan!
And thou, O Kinchi Haman, thou who claimest to know all rituals, shall
stand beside me before the gods and shall aid me in my ceremony and my
offerings. Take heed that no false move, no wrong word, no mistake is
made, or upon you will fall the vengeance of Kukulcan, as the false
betrayer of his teachings!”
Terror filled the eyes of the priest as I stood over him, threatening,
reviling, shaking my fist at him. He cowered back, his ghastly
death’s head face blanched, his teeth chattered. My random words and
accusations had hit the mark somewhere. Still in doubt as to my exact
status, he was filled with superstitious dread. He was not by any
means certain that I did not know more of the rituals of Kukulcan than
himself, and at my assured confident tones, my scathing denunciation,
he had become even less certain, had begun to doubt his own knowledge,
had lost all self-assurance.
In his ambition, his desire for power, his ruthless tyranny, he had
usurped the powers of the priesthood of other cults than his own. He
had installed himself as high-priest of all the Mayan gods, though he
well knew, as I and all others familiar with Mayan mythology knew,
the priests of the Plumed Serpent cult were apart from all others, a
distinct order possessing secret rituals known only to themselves and
amenable only to the supreme priest of their own order. He had been
able to hoodwink the people, to pretend that, by favor of the gods, he
had been appointed supreme head of the religion. But, so he thought,
he had not fooled me. At my words, his crafty, ever-suspicious mind,
had jumped to the conclusion that I knew secrets of the ceremony of
Kukulcan of which he was in ignorance, and he was shaking with deadly
fear that he had gotten himself into a tangle from which he would be
most fortunate if he could escape. He glanced furtively about, he
babbled that he must attend his own temple and conduct its ceremonies.
But I shook my head and refused to listen.
“Come, time passes,” I commanded him. “Today Kinich Ahau must be
satisfied with the offices of the little priests. Kukulcan demands your
presence. Lead the way, O, Kinchi Haman.”
There was nothing he could do but obey. Still shaking and terrified, he
led the way to the waiting litters and, surrounded by the plumed guards
and richly-clad nobles, we were carried to the great temple of the
Plumed Serpent. Everywhere, filling the great plaza, covering the flat
house-tops, crowding the streets, were the people, awaiting me, eager
to witness the ceremony of the setting sun conducted by the Son of
Kukulcan before the altar of his father. Up the broad stone stairs of
the great pyramidal _Kus_ we ascended. Thrice the terrace at its summit
we passed, and then, descending from our litters, I followed Kinchi
Haman into the narrow, tapering doorway of the temple proper. My every
sense was on the alert, my nerves keyed up. I was rapidly approaching
a climax that would end either in my death or by raising me to supreme
power, and it behooved me to take advantage of every opportunity.
I noted every detail of my surroundings, took in everything. And
despite the danger I was in, despite the strain I was under and the
dangerous part I was to play, I found my scientific interest in my
surroundings rapidly overriding all other considerations. Scores,
hundreds of times I had delved and wandered among the ruins of
ancient Mayan temples. The form, the entrance, the narrow yard-wide
passageway, the sculptures upon the stones, the frescoes on the walls,
the strangely stepped-in ceiling, all were familiar. But never before
had an archeologist seen the interior of a Mayan temple as it was when
in daily use. No other scientist had ever seen one of the temples when
it was occupied, when it contained the fittings, the furnishings, the
objects devoted to the worship of the almost unknown Mayan gods. And
so little was known of the people and their religion, that no one--not
even Joyce or Morley, Saville or even Cervantes, had ever been able
to imagine or revisualize these things. Yet here was I, following
the high priest through the labyrinth of narrow corridors within a
temple filled with objects such as no museum in the world possessed.
Wonderful tapestries and textiles, and marvelous hangings covered with
magnificent feather pictures covered the walls. In tiny niches, images
of gods, of divinities, of sacred birds and beasts of solid gold, of
jade, of lapis, of crystal and of amethyst were placed.
A strange, soft, bluish light, like that of moonbeams, filled
the windowless corridors. Upon the stone floors were carpets of
woven matting, and sweet smelling, aromatic incense floated from
mosaic-covered burners placed here and there. Everywhere the sacred
red, white and green of Kukulcan was used to the exclusion of all other
colors; everywhere the Plumed Serpent in all his manifold forms was
prominent in the pictures and decorative motifs, and in one brightly
illuminated room were arranged hundreds, thousands of stuffed or
mummified Quetzal trogans, the sacred birds in whose form Kukulcan or
Quetzalcoatl was first supposed to have appeared. Presently we entered
a long, high, narrow chamber, and I glanced quickly about. Kinchi Haman
was already donning ceremonial robes. Everywhere were carved stone
chests and wooden cases filled with priceless ornaments, magnificent
robes, feather crowns, ceremonial objects. Which were the ones I should
use? To hesitate was to be lost. The gleaming eyes of the priest were
watching my every move. I must act quickly, surely, must betray no
hesitation.
Across my mind flashed the memory of Professor Cervantes’ most prized
possession--the painted sculptured door-lintel from Chichen Itza
with its figure of a high priest of Kukulcan. And, coincidently with
this memory, came the mental picture of old Katchilcan, as I had
seen him attired for the ceremony of the sunset. Every detail was
instantaneously photographed upon my brain. I saw every ornament, every
object as plainly as though it were before my eyes. I wheeled savagely
on the priest. “And since when,” I demanded, “has the misshapen priest
of Kinich Ahau been paramount in the temple of Kukulcan? I am the
master here! You are but a menial, a slave! Bring to me the robes, the
crown, the sacred objects that I may attire myself for worship.”
He fairly cringed. Once more I had bluffed him. With babbled excuses he
scurried about, bringing me robes, sandals, crown. I studied each as he
presented it, racked my memory to be sure. Twice I hurled the objects
from me and berated him. One, an elaborated, magnificent feather
headdress, bore blue and yellow plumes; the other, a great golden disk,
bore the symbol of Itzama, the Moon God. Whether he tried to trick me,
whether in his haste and nervousness he had made a mistake, or whether
he did not know of their significance, I cannot say. But, in any case,
my prompt rejection of the objects must have convinced him I was
familiar with the ceremonial costume demanded.
* * * * *
AT last I was fully attired. In one hand I bore the double-headed
serpent staff of turquoise mosaic, in the other the feather-woven
basket containing the implements for blood-letting. I smiled to myself.
As far as appearances went, I might have been the vitalized figure from
a prehistoric Mayan monument.
The priest led the way once more. As we passed through another chamber,
we were joined by a dozen or more young men in the tricolored robes
of the Serpent God. In another, twenty virgins of the temple joined
the procession, and with measured tread, with a low chant, with waving
green plumes, we issued from the temple door and looked down upon the
vast crowd beneath us.
Above our heads the temple walls and lofty roof-comb gleamed like
molten gold in the rays of the sinking sun. Below us the plaza and the
city were in dusky purple shadows. And in a great wave of sound the
cheers of the people rose to us on the calm silent air of evening.
Slowly we marched around the broad stone parapet. The acolytes and
virgins prostrated themselves, and the priest halted and made obeisance
before a short flight of steps that led to a huge sculptured altar
above which towered a gigantic image of the Plumed Serpent, a lordly,
imposing figure with benign bearded face gazing steadfastly into the
east.
My heart pounded in my breast. Despite my every effort, I felt nervous,
shaky, filled with forebodings. The moment had come. Could I go through
with the plan I had formed? Could I dominate the priest and the others.
Could I bluff it out? Then thoughts of Itza swept through my troubled
brain. Somewhere below me, somewhere in that vast crowd, she and the
prince were watching. For her sake, for her love, I must triumph. No
longer did I hesitate. A great hush had fallen upon the scene. Not a
sound broke the intense stillness. Stepping past the prostrate priest,
I mounted the first step, faced the huge image above me, bowed, and at
the top of my lungs shouted--in English: “Good evening, old fellow;
what do you think of your self-appointed son, Kukulcan?”
I wheeled in time to see the priest glance up with an amazed, startled,
half-terrified, half-incredulous expression. Never before had he or
anyone present heard a word of English from my lips. To him, to all,
it was utterly incomprehensible. It must be the secret ceremonial
language of the cult of the Plumed Serpent! Below me, already dim in
the shadows, the people were prostrate. Once more I shouted, this time
in the Zutugil they understood, for I did not intend they should miss
any of the events to follow. “Rise, O, people of Mictolan,” I cried.
“Rise and look upon the ceremony of the setting sun.” Then, in English
to impress them the more, I added, “And upon the setting of the priest
here.”
Slowly, half fearfully, the people rose and gazed upward towards where
I stood.
Once more I turned and deliberately and confidently, ascended the
steps, until I stood directly before the immense statue, whose knees
were on a level with my head. Then again I faced the priest. I am not a
particularly religious man, I belong to no definite sect, but I respect
faith and religion in others, no matter what its form. Regardless of
their belief, of the fact that they were pagans, the people who had
gathered about the temple were there to worship. To them the place
whereon I stood was sacred. To them I was a holy being, a priest. My
flippant words of a few moments before had been thoughtlessly uttered,
had been the first words that came to my lips. But now I was upon the
altar itself, upon a sacred spot, and nothing was farther from my mind
than to be flippant, to be blasphemous, to desecrate the temple by word
or act that, could my words be understood, would arouse the resentment
of the people of Mictolan.
* * * * *
THEY had gathered to hear me give thanks to the gods; they should not
be disappointed. Kneeling in sight of all, I repeated the Lord’s Prayer
and, to the best of my ability, gave fervent thanks to God for His
mercies and prayed that He might guard and protect Itza and that He
would not desert us in our time of need.
Then, feeling I had done my duty, I rose. The sun was sinking behind
the mountains to the west, and I felt that I must bring the ceremonies
to a prompt end--with a fitting climax. The time had come for me to
assert myself, to humble the rascally, hideous old priest.
“Behold, O, Kinchi Haman!” I cried in Zutugil so that all might hear.
“Behold, the sun sets; Kinich Ahau hides his face and visits the nether
world and he goes without seeing his priest by the side of the son of
Kukulcan. Did you not say you knew the ritual of the Plumed Serpent?
Did I not warn you that there was much that you knew not? Did I not
caution you to make no mistake, to not fail to utter the right words?
But you have done nothing, nothing but hide your face of Uayayab, the
Poisoner of the Year. You have not joined in prayer, have made no move
to render thanks unto the great Kukulcan. False thou art, false to
your trust, false to your faith! But Kukulcan is ever merciful. Though
he might well wreak vengeance upon you, yet will he be satisfied with
less. He calls for the blood sacrifice, O, Kinchi Haman; for the blood
of the priest of Kinich Ahau. Come hither and give the blood that he
demands!”
Speechless, trembling, urged on by the jeers, the shouts of anger from
the multitude, fearful of disobeying one who seemed on such familiar
terms with the giant god, Kinchi Haman fairly crawled up the stairs to
my feet.
Silently I handed him the basket with the thorn-covered cord, the
obsidian knives, the golden bowl for sacrificial blood-letting. In
the crimson light of the dying sun he looked, like a fiend incarnate.
But the eyes of the people were upon him. I stood beside him, stern,
threatening. Above him towered the giant idol. With trembling hands
he pierced his ears with the lancet, with sweat pouring from his brow
he drew the sharp thorns of the cord across his tongue. In the golden
salver he caught the dripping blood and, groaning with pain, he placed
the offering at the feet of the great image.
“And now, O, Kinchi Haman,” I shouted, “that thy repentance may be
complete, remain here at the feet of Kukulcan until Kinich Ahau, Lord
of Day, smiles upon Mictolan.”
A thunderous cheer arose from the crowds below, and without glancing
back at the disgraced, humiliated priest, I descended the steps,
marched with the Virgins and acolytes to the temple door, removed my
priestly garments and descended to the plaza to where Itza eagerly
awaited me. My triumph was complete. If any member of the community
had doubted my status before, all such doubts were dispelled. The very
strangeness of my actions, the unexpected, unintelligible words I had
spoken, and finally my treatment of their feared and hated priest,
had served to convince them that I was the son of Kukulcan. They were
Indians, they reasoned in accordance with Indian psychology. Anything
they did not understand must be supernatural, divine. My words in
English were meaningless to them, therefore they must be understood
only by the gods and their chosen priests. My ceremony of the setting
sun was unlike any they had ever witnessed, therefore it must be the
right one, and Kinchi Haman had been deceiving them. The priest had
obeyed my orders, therefore I was the mightier, and he bowed to my
superior wisdom and power.
And of all the people, perhaps the prince was the most amazed, the most
impressed. As we walked towards the palace--for I had dismissed the
litter-bearers--he was unusually silent and stared at me, a puzzled,
incredulous expression on his face. But once we were alone with Itza in
my quarters, he spoke.
“Itzimin,” he exclaimed, “I cannot understand it. When I told you of
the secret prophecy of my House and frankly said I knew you to be
but a mortal and no son of the gods, you told me it was so. And now,
Itzimin, you appear upon the temple, you speak the tongue of the sacred
ceremonies, and Kinchi Haman humbles himself before you.”
Itza, too, seemed greatly troubled and declared she was filled with
sorrow at the thought that I might be other than an ordinary man.
I laughed at their serious looks and words, kissed away Itza’s doubts,
and reassured Azcopil. “You are both right and wrong, my brother,” I
told him. “As you well know, I am of another race than yours. Those of
my race worship another God in other ways than yours. And the God of my
people welcomes the prayers and the offerings of all, whether priests
or not. Upon the temple of Kukulcan I gave forth the prayers that I and
my people render to my God, and in the tongue we use. And Kinchi Haman
bowed to me by the will of the God of my people, who is the greatest of
all Gods.”
Azcopil nodded. Then for a space he was silent, thinking deeply.
Suddenly Itza lifted her head from where it nestled on my shoulder and
smiled into my eyes. “Tell me, Itzimin, my beloved, of this God of your
people,” she begged. “Truly He must be great and good and powerful
above all others. Did not Kukulcan permit you to worship this God of
yours upon his altar? Did not Kinchi Haman tremble before Him? And you,
Itzimin, are the best and greatest of men, so your God must be the best
and greatest of gods, and I desire to know Him and to worship Him.”
“Yes, Itzimin, tell us of your God,” added the prince.
I am no theologian, and I fear I made a mess of trying to explain the
tenets of the Christian faith to Azcopil and Itza. To people accustomed
for generations to an involved mythology with a multitude of gods,
a simple religion with a single God is a most difficult matter to
comprehend. Moreover, the Zutugil tongue was woefully lacking in words
to express my meaning or to describe many things in my religion. But
that they grasped the fundamental principles, I was sure, when the
prince spoke again.
“It seems, Itzimin,” he said, choosing his words and speaking slowly,
“that your God is like our Hunabku, the Invisible and Supreme One. To
him all other gods bow. He rules all earth, heaven, the air, yet never
is he seen. And like your God, who sent His son to walk upon earth
and teach the people, so our Hunabku sent his son Kukulcan to walk
among the Kitche Maya and to teach our father’s fathers. So perchance,
Itzimin, your God and the supreme god of my people may be the same, and
I for one see little difference as to which one we worship, for both
are the source of all things.”
I nodded assent. I had no wish to try my hand at missionary work; to
stir up religious questions was to stir up trouble, and trouble of any
sort I desired above all else to avoid.